You keep talking shit about Best Korea and the BRILLIANT COMRADE gonna fuck you punks up yo.

How you like we do to tha Shenzen special economic zone what we be doing to those muthafucking NIGHT ELVES be all fucking with our shit, huh. Cos we gonna do that you don’t stop talking shit about us yo.

I be reading about Iran giving mad cash to the Afghans, yo. (oh and tha 4 STAR G be loving the Guardian, yo, Charlie Brooker my nigga – Nathan Barley be based on tha K to tha J to tha muthafucking U if that KJU be a Round Eyes, yo.)

This be the same Afghans that be conspiring with tha Saudis to be cheating us out of our weed and cash and stealing our nukes and be talking all shit to my girl Kim Kardashian and having her not be adding me on MySpace and shit, first of all.

Second of all, they ain’t even in tha club. They ain’t part of the Axis of Evil. They just some weed-growing bumpkins, yo.

Iran never gave me shit, yo. We be getting mad love from Cuba. China be loving on us too – when they ain’t confiscating the nukes we accidently be leaving in theys casinos. But we ain’t got shit from Iran.

So this my message, yo – gimme what I want or I’ll get it where I can.

We’s lonely up in this democratic peoples muthafucker, man.

Anyway, this my boy Ayatollah – he know where tha love at, not like that other Ayatollah that chump ass cheapskate.

Went down in Macao with my homie Major Choe and his dad, the Ambassador to China Pyong-Gwan, or Big Choe as I call him, on Friday.

You know we be running out of that weed that we be exchanging those nuclear weapons parts with tha Afghan Al Qaeda punx for, yo? It was time for Round 2. But Choe’s dad be saying we also needing mad cash from those punx, too. Says the peaceful reunification of the Korean Peninsula under the enlightened leadership of Kim Jong-Il, and with fidelity to the doctrines of Juche and Songun ain’t gonna pay for itself, yo.

It was all sorted, yo.

Me and Major Choe and Major Choe’s dad was supposed to meet with this Saudi businessman in the private gaming room number 47A of the MGM Grand Macao casino.

Ok, maybe like my dad be saying when I got home this morning and told him my side of the dialectical equation that it all started to go to shit after my fifth Monkey Gland. Maybe.

Anyway, the sandnigga walks in and he go all like, “I am here on behalf of the Foreign Minister, his Highness Prince Saud al-Faisal.”

That when I lose it, yo.

They punked me, yo.

Prince Saud al-Faisal? He tha same guy that be talking all shit to my girl Kim Kardashian and telling her not to be friending me on MySpace and shit. He tha same guy I’s gonna nuke at tha G20 if she don’t add me, yo!

They punking me, yo!

So I say “no way man! No way I gonna be punked like this and be giving this warhead over to some representative of that chump, yo.” I be like, “check it, we out of here. We ain’t being punked like some punk ass punks, yo. We gone, man, we fucking gone, yo.”

And the Saudi be all like “we got a deal” and shit as if he ain’t just there to punk me, yo.

So I don’t really know but some how we all be getting into a fight until security be coming to separate us.

Big Choe be explaining how he a very important person and he got immunity and shit. So when he and Little Choe be stopping the security guards from looking in the diplomatic bag with the warhead in it, that’s when I made a run for it, yo.

Man I never run so fast in my life. Except that time that me and Little Choe be running away from the head of the Central Bank after I be all hitting on his daughter.

Man, they was good times…

So I got back to the hotel we be at, tha Best Western Sun Sun, and I be calling Little Choe on his phone, but there be no answer, yo.

I keep blowing that chump up for like a half an hour but there still no answer.

So I be all like, “fuck it, nigga think he too good to party with the J-Unit, I’ll have my own party, yo” and I went to find me some hookers.

So when I get back to Pyongyang this morning, some army chumps waiting at the airport. They take me straight to my dad’s pad. I’s thinking he’s gonna wanna watch more dirty movies, but it ain’t like that. Luckily, all it be is that Big Choe and Little Choe were kicked out of Macao and ain’t never allowed back.

The old man told me that we had to pay the Chinese a whole lot of money to cover up the fact that we left a nuclear warhead in the casino. Says they ain’t gonna give it back, neither. Says they be saying we can’t be trusted and we fucked up bad this time. Says he be saying that peaceful nuclear development be the birthright of the Korean nation, yo, but they still say they not giving it back.

He also be saying that if the MGM headquarters find out what we did in their Macao casino that they’ll probably tell the CIA or something and then we’ll really be fucked.

Says that Big Choe been replaced as Ambassador to China, too.

And that Little Choe ain’t gonna be my military attaché no more.

Says they both fucked up big time when they agreed to let me come with them, yo. The old man says they paying the price for my incompetence.

He ask me how that feels, yo. And how it feels to be gonna lead the whole Korean people to ruin, yo. And how it feel to be as big a fuck up as my fat fuck brother Jong-Nam, yo.

I say I’s just glad we not gonna have to watch pornos together again. That was hella creepy last time.

This joint for my nigga Little Choe, yo. I sure hope you like digging coal or being a laboratory experiment or whatever else they be got you doin’. Even though you gone we still a team…

There be less than a month for me to get 1000 friends or else I’m gonna nuke all those punks at the G20 summit in Seoul – especially those sandnigga Saudis who be talking all shit about me to my girl, Kim Kardashian.

Check it, my Round Eye nigga Matthew McConaughey did the right thing, he be hitting me up to be friends.

If you wanna rap with the 4 STAR G, but you also want me to nuke those chumps, you can friend me over at Friendster, yo. Friendster basically MySpace but for us bugs. So if you wanna friend me over there, check it, I don’t want no slant-eyed bugs over there, so if you ain’t got your eyes fixed yet, get that shit sorted, yo. You making the Master Race look bad looking all Asian and shit.

And he got no fucking idea, yo. But that ain’t surprising for that stoner ass punk.

So Choe do what he always do when all confused and shit.

He check his diary. He be writing in that diary all the time, yo. It full of shit he be calling ‘automatic writing’ and designs for furniture and shit. He indexes that muthafucka like only some obsessive stoner can.

And it turns out that not only is there a for real space program up in this worksers paradise, yo, but check it: I’m in charge.

When we find out shit like this, it ususally because of something that happened back in January.

We call that our “lost month”, yo.

It was snowing like a muthafucka so we couldn’t go outside and play, and Choe got his hands on this crystal powder shit they use in the Kim Chaek University for experiments on rats and shit.

O man. That shit got us mad blunted. It put us right to sleep.

For real. We was putting that shit on our coco puffs at breakfast. We was living like fucking zombies for that whole month.

A whole lot of meetings and decisions and shit happened that we just got no idea about.

Including the inaugural meeting of the DPRK Interplanetary Ideological Exploration Committee which I was chairing.

Turns out the old man put me in charge. Turns out the military and tha Korean Committee of Space Technology aren’t happy with just pretending to shoot sattelites into space.

They want to put a nigga on Mars.

They want the Juche ideology to taken to the outer spheres or some shit.

There’s a lot of stuff we still can’t remember but check it, we got a a €50,000 budget…

That’s right, they be hosting tha G20 summit in Seoul. That’s tha meeting of the leaders of the 19 wealthiest and most influential playas in tha world.

Plus Ausfalia.

Guess who ain’t invited, yo?

That’s right, the Fresh Prince of Pyongyang.

And that be suiting me just fine, yo. Fuck those chump ass Mexican Koreans and fuck all y’all Round Eyes chumps. Your parties suck ass, man. I be hearing there gonna be a half a million cops there, yo. Man, fuck tha police, yo. You can’t party with a half million pigs on your case. Fuck that shit, amirite?

I got a better idea, yo.

How about I just nuke those chumps?

Fuck you Obama, you’ve fucked with my shit one too many times. Fuck you, Zhou Xiaochuan, governor of the People’s Bank of China. I’ll teach you to deny me an overdraft the night before a big ass date with four Cambodian hookers. Fuck you, Geithner you sanction-loving punk ass nerd, enjoy 20 million mega-tonnes you fag.

And fuck you, Saudi Finance Minister Ibrahim bin Abdulaziz bin Abdullah Al-Assaf, I know you been telling Kim Kardashian not to return my calls. And I know Saud al-Faisal been telling her not to friend me on MySpace – you think you can get away with that you fucking sandnigga punk? I know You hairy ass sandniggaz are all in it together. Fuck all y’all, yo.

Quit getting in the way of me fucking my cousin Kim Kardashian, you Saudi punks!!!

So check it. If I get 1000 friends hit me up on MySpace by November 12 when that punk ass meeting be starting, yo, I’m gonna nuke that joint all to shit.

Help a brother out here, y’all. I be hella fucked up over this shit right here.

Check it. I want all y’all to scope this video of the punk ass parade I had to sit my bored ass through the other day. You be see my styling up there with the old man looking all bored and shit, but that ain’t what I want you to focus on, yo. Check it. Go to 1 minute and 4 seconds in, yo. Tell me what you see.

At the time, I be thinking I’s seeing some skinny ass kids dressed as astronauts or space men or some shit doing some punk ass b-boy routine.

But I was also pretty fucking blunted.

In the morning me and Choe be smoking the last of that major chronic we be swapping nucelar technology with the sandniggaz from Afgahnistan for. We also split one of those horse tranqs we got from Choe’s boy Cougar or Pantha or whatever that crazy ass nigga be called.

It was this big ass military parade in Pyongyang. Basically it was all about showing punk ass niggaz (like that pussy ass bitch “Deane” who be hitting me up in the last post) that just because the Old Man be all dying and shit, that don’t mean you can fuck with out shit, nigga. We be harder ass than ever, yo. The D to tha P to tha R to tha muthafucking K be even more wild ass under the Brilliant Comrade than the Dear Leader, yo.

Man, you faggits thought we as a rogue state before, yo, we be hella fucking rogue now, y’all.

That be all good, but parades still suck ass.

We just be sitting there on our asses all day and wave at some niggaz from time to time and salute some shit when they say to salute some shit. I had my iPud with me – better than an iPod, yo, and half the price – blasting some old skool shit from my Jap ass nigga Lyrics Born. He my dawg, but I still be thinking about all those missiles and shit blowing shit up in Japan and shit. Sweet ass.

I got to spend some time with the Old Man, too, but he’s still pissed at me.

I think he forgiven me about putting him in hospital a month back, or maybe just forgotten, because he tends to forget shit these days, too.

Nah, he’s pissed about the Yongbyon dealio.

Says I shouldn’t have built my recording studio and nightclub and bball stadium at the most monitored sight in the whole of Azia. Says there be mad sattalites and shit all up in the sky watching that joint all the time.

I be like, “so explain to the Round Eyes what we be doing up there and how it ain’t about nukes, nigga.”

And he be like, “are you crazy? We can’t tell them that. They’ll laugh at us even more.”

I be like Nigga Wot? The Round Eyes be laughing at us? At the 4 STAR G?

Nah, he’s a crazy ass nigga, yo. Ain’t no one gonna laugh at the Fresh Prince of Pyongyang, yo.

Cos the Fresh Prince, he gonna fuck you up, nigga. He gonna fuck you up bad.